Luca took a shaky sip, watching her over the rim of the glass with bloodshot eyes that were still wary—like he couldn't quite believe she wasn't walking out on him at that very moment.
"...You say that like it's obvious," he muttered eventually.
Seo-in tilted her head a little, studying him with that steady warmth of hers before answering simply, "It is."
Luca's jaw tightened at her blunt certainty, his gaze dropping to the half-empty glass in his hands. A part of him wanted to argue—to list every reason he didn't deserve her patience, her warmth, her loyalty. But something in her quiet conviction made the words die in his throat.
Instead, he let out a dry laugh, half-choked. "You're either incredibly naïve or just too damn stubborn to give up on me."
Seo-in smirked, leaning closer to lightly flick his forehead—just hard enough for him to wince in a way that was almost playful.
"Oh please," she teased. "Like I'd let you be the stubborn one in this relationship."
He blinked at her before a faint, tired grin broke through the haze of his pounding headache.
"...Fair point."
She exhaled softly, then pressed a brief kiss against his temple before standing—gentle, decisive, familiar.
"Now rest—properly."
Her tone shifted as she paused at the doorway, one hand on the frame. She glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing just slightly in a silent warning that didn't need to be spoken aloud. They both knew what she meant.
Luca watched her retreating figure fade into the hallway, then sank back into the pillows. The warmth she left behind settled heavily in his chest—undeserved, overwhelming, frightening in how much it mattered. And later, when his strength returned enough to stand, maybe—just maybe, he would start believing that her words weren't pity, but truth rooted deeper than either of them had expected.
***
At the hotel where Seo-in's parents were staying, the atmosphere was sharp and suffocating.
Seo-in's mother paced near the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"We're wasting time," she muttered. "That boy is unstable—who knows what he might do if he feels cornered?"
Her husband sat on the edge of the bed, watching her with tired eyes before releasing a long sigh—one that carried the weight of everything he couldn't fix.
"And what happens if we push too hard and lose her instead?"
His wife stopped pacing abruptly and turned to him with disbelief.
"Lose her? She's our daughter!"
"Exactly."
His voice was quieter, but the firmness in it never wavered. And the truth behind his words hung heavy in the air:
They could lose Seo-in if they kept forcing this.
Seo-in's father rubbed his temples.
"If we go to Luca directly and demand he leaves her, what makes you think she won't resent us? Or worse—choose him over us?"
Her mother stiffened near the window, fingers tightening around her silk sleeve.
"She's young and infatuated—she doesn't see the danger yet. When that boy shows his true colors, she'll come running back."
Her voice was sharp, but beneath it trembled something far more fragile: fear.
Her husband looked at her for a long moment before speaking again—quiet, but cutting.
"...And if those 'true colors' are just pain from a life we can't understand? What then?"
Silence fell—heavy, suffocating, undeniable. Because no matter how fiercely they loved their daughter…
Some battles were not theirs to fight.
Not if fighting meant losing her completely.
At last, Seo-in's mother turned away from the window. Her arms dropped limply to her sides, the exhaustion seeping into her posture as if something inside her had finally broken.
"...I don't know," she whispered.
All the sharp edges in her voice were gone—only weary resignation remained.
Her husband reached out, touching her hand gently, almost cautiously.
"We just want to protect her," he murmured.
No anger.
No frustration.
Just the raw, aching sadness of parents trapped between fear and love.
***
The breeze carried the scent of earth as Kim Hyun-wook stepped out of the car, followed closely by his Secretary, Kwon Jun-hee, who was already opening a digital file on his tablet. Before them stretched twenty hectares of farmland—wide, sunlit, and edged by tall pine trees that cast thin stripes of shade over the field.
Hyun-wook adjusted the cuff of his shirt and began walking forward, his posture straight, his expression calm and discerning. He moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was looking for. Secretary Kwon matched her pace, occasionally tapping notes into her tablet.
The landowner—a middle-aged man with sun-worn skin and a handkerchief perpetually dabbing at his forehead—trailed behind them.
"This land has been in our family for generations," the owner said with pride. "We cared for it well."
Hyun-wook crouched to take a handful of soil, letting it crumble between his fingers.
"It's good soil," he said evenly. "Rich, but it hasn't been maintained properly for at least a year. You can see it in the moisture retention."
Secretary Kwon nodded beside him, already typing. "The irrigation system too, sir. The southern line needs repairs."
They continued walking, checking boundary markers, water channels, and the slight incline toward the east. Every now and then, Hyun-wook would pause, narrowing his eyes as if mapping the future of the land in his head.
After nearly an hour, they reached a small rise that overlooked the entire stretch. Hyun-wook stood still for a moment, hands in his pockets, assessing the landscape with a quiet intensity.
The owner seemed impatient. "So? The full twenty hectares—what do you think?"
Hyun-wook inhaled slowly before speaking.
"The land is valuable. But for the price you're asking…" He glanced back over the fields. "Current conditions don't justify it."
The owner stiffened but kept listening.
Hyun-wook continued, voice steady, respectful, but unmistakably firm. "I'm willing to buy sixteen hectares. The northern and eastern sections. Those are the most usable areas for the project I'm planning."
He turned to face the owner directly. "And that is the maximum I can offer at your current price point."
"Sixteen?" The owner frowned. "That's far less than what I intended to sell."
"It's a fair offer," Secretary Kwon added quietly, showing projected values on the tablet. "Especially considering the maintenance gap and the repair costs."
Hyun-wook nodded once.
"I can finalize the purchase this week. But I won't negotiate beyond sixteen."
The air hung heavy for a moment—only rustling pine needles filled the silence. The owner looked out over the land, perhaps weighing sentiment against practicality.
Then he exhaled deeply.
"Alright … sixteen hectares. I'll take it."
Hyun-wook bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect.
"Thank you. I'll have my team prepare the documents."
They shook hands—firm, brief, and decisive.
As he walked back toward the car with Secretary Kwon, Hyun-wook gave the land one last look. It wasn't the full twenty hectares he had hoped for, but it was enough—more than enough—for the next step in his plans.
Secretary Kwon glanced at him.
"Congratulations, sir. This is a good acquisition."
Hyun-wook simply hummed in agreement, eyes still tracing the horizon.
"Good," he said quietly. "Let's move forward."